The Piano Plays Sweetly
by Kisshulover1
Summary: Dean Winchester is the Sheriff of a town populated by drunks, innocent folk, and trouble makers all alike. The days go by in gun-smoke, cattle dust, and the twang of a banjo. But all that changes when a new family rides into town looking for a better life. A family more strange than normal - with more siblings than sense, and a young blue eyed man who plays the Piano Sweetly.
1. Folks Comin' Into Town

**Why am I starting another Supernatural Story? Because I am stupid and Rachael and Lulu wanted me to, that's why. **I do not own Supernatural but I do own this story.** I am very excited about this story though, it's a western AU so you know it's gonna be a rompin' good ol' time! So sit back and let me spin y'all a tale - of a hunter of the law and a young piano man. **

…

The banjo hummed and laughed, the strings plucked to make a fantastic twang like tune as skilled fingers strummed and slapped at the instrument.

Nails plucked short made a fine show of playing along the twine, fluttering the sound into the hot Kansas air that reeked of leather oil, dust, and the sweet sweet scent of alfalfa hay.

He must have been out here on this old rickety porch for a good bought of the morning if his sore bow legs had anything to say about it. He absently kicked his right leg up to rest it on the low cut fence near the hitching posts, his eyes getting a fill of his muddied boots as he reminded himself to clean them later. He had to keep up appearances after all, being the Sherriff of these here parts.

He chewed his lip absently, the taste coming back salty with sweat and tangy with his last shot of whiskey - it was never too early for a drink in this God forsaken town. Usually there was a whole range of trouble a brewin' in the wee early hours of the morning before it erupted into full blown chaos. It was always the snapping sound of guns a flaring down near the last strip of land near the saloon that Ellen and her kids ran, or when Crowley's big hounds got loose from their chains and started to tear and maim Rufus's sheep stock, or when some yahoo's came a riding into town causing trouble in the form of bloodshed and slurred words. It was a pity to put a man six feet under, but the law was the law - no money for bail and a sentence worse than the ball and stripes mean gallows or a chest full of lead. It was the criminals right to choose, Dean gave him at least that much of a choice.

However, nothing had happened today all morning, till the first one of old Singers roosters crowed to the last of Ellens sinister apple pies were laid out on the window sill to cool.

Time just went on a ticking and it made Dean's skin itch, finding some comfort in plucking the strings of his old banjo that his Daddy had given him when he was just a little brat, just plucking the strings with no reason or rhyme. At least now he could carry a tune that didn't make the alley cats yowl in the night.

Dean sighed through his teeth as he looked out from the brim of his hat towards the town that was under his jurisdiction, his horse snorting softy from her place at the hitching post.

There were people already out and about with their daily lives, lugging sacks of flour for feeding hungry families into wagons perched on rickety wheels, horses lounging at the hitching posts that they were tied to as they stamped their hooves impatiently, men laughing at another funny joke before talking a ladle full of water down their lips, women in pretty petty coats balancing parasols in tiny hands as they went on their way.

Dean smiled and absently plucked another string, hearing the sharp noise through his ears, the echo sinking into his mind - music always did that to him, made the best out of him when nothing else could. He guessed it was his Mamma's fault that he had an ear for it, her always playing the piano on Sunday afternoons after Church.

His Mamma' could sing like the best of them - Dean was convinced she was part mockingbird, and that after the Lord took her from this earth he made her into a twittering bird to sing at morning, noon, and night.

It was a nice thought and it got Dean through most of the day when his heart grew sick or lonesome. Being an orphan tended to do that to a person.

But he wasn't completely alone. He had his kid brother Sammy - a fine boy, already dreaming of becoming a lawyer in the golden hills of California -, and Sam's Fiancé Jess who was one of the kindest woman Dean had ever laid eyes on. She made sure there was food in the ice box and supper on the table for the boys whenever Dean came home from the Jail House and Sam from the little town hall that housed the judges court.

He had a pretty good life, all in all. Well, except for the little golden metal star on his breast pocket that was the universal sign for target practice. There was a reason why his Daddy, the Sherriff before him, was weary of taking up the job. But after Deans Mamma' was killed in a house fire when Dean and Sam were young, his Daddy gone and grabbed his six shooter and went out looking for the man who did it.

It didn't take him more than twenty six years of his life to find the man who had done the deed - Pappa Winchester always told the story of how old yellow eyes flailed before the rope snapped his neck nice and sharp. It was his Daddy's favorite story to tell.

But the justice of his Mamma's death wasn't without a price - old yellow eyes had nicked his dad in the chest with his colt, resulting in him being bed ridden. The wound bruised for a few days, festering for a few weeks, until two months went by and John Winchester was laid in the bone orchard in a pine box.

It was no more than three years ago, and it still hurt his chest something fierce, but Dean knew he would be alright - he had Sammy to look after, had a town to manage and crooks and thieves to shoot down. His life was simple and peachy keen - better than most. Least he wasn't working the coal mines or riding on some sour mare herding cattle up North. No, Dean was perfectly at ease with his routine yet dangerous life - that was, until Sammy, lankly legs and all, came a runnin' up to the porch where Dean sat brooding like a hen without an egg.

"Dean - I have news, _big_ news!" Sam's voice huffed as he ceased his running to lean tiredly on the nearby hitching post where Deans pride and joy - a coal black Quarter-Horse by the name of Impala - was tied and began to tittered and stamp her feet, aching and restless to go for a ride through the back meadows fat with grass.

"Sammy, I swear to the Lord above, if you're about to go off on some Lawyer lingo I will dunk your head in the water trough." Dean warned, his fingers stilling on the banjo as he looked up from his hat at his younger but taller brother.

Sam merely shook his head, gulping down another breath of air before he even bothered to try to tell his story that had him running from the court house in town hall to Deans office near the jailhouse.

At first glance, the boy did look like his Mamma the most - that was the truth.

A whole mop of coffee colored hair that went past his ears, edged by sideburns as big as Texas - Dean had always begged the damn fool to cut his hair to a normal, respectable length, but Sam would always insist that Jess liked it and that was that.

He was dressed in a nice suit jacket over a neatly pressed grey vest, all complete with a cross over tie and stock pin. He was missing his hat which made Dean kick his feet off the porch railings, his focus on his brother suddenly a bit more serious - damn kid never went anywhere without his fancy-yuppy hat.

"Dean, there are people - new folk, comin' up along the hills! Rufus said he saw them up near his place early in the morning crossing the river in two covered wagons pulled by a sorry looking team of oxen. He reckon's they're here to settle down!" Sam's voice was that high pitched kind of excited tone that Dean detested so much - it meant his brother was going to try, with all his might, to befriend these new folk so that maybe he could carry an intelligent conversation once in a while in this damn town.

Sam was just as strained in this environment as Dean, maybe some new meat in these parts would liven things up. A simple life had it's pleasures, but some new neighbors that weren't old man Singer and Rufus would be mighty appreciated.

"Oh really now? They crossed Siren river in a covered wagon? Hope they didn't loose any stock - that's a mean river crossing - sure as hell drowned it's share of oxen." Dean bit his lip, shuffling his boots on the dry planks of the porch as he set his banjo down against the red painted wall that was beginning to chip.

"They must have crossed it alright - because little Ben, y'know Lisa's boy? He was on his pony near the walnut trees when he came riding up to the law house making a racket - said the family was here, that they would be coming soon!" The grin on Sam's face could light up the kerosene lamps on the street for months.

Dean sighed with a weary frown before he wedged his left hand in his trouser pocket, his other coming up to scratch Impala behind the ear, the horse nickering at the attention finally paid to her.

"I suppose they wanna' settle down then. After Bella left with her riches from oil on her cattle pastures, her little house has gone up for sale - hasn't it?" Dean asked the other Winchester brother, his face making an unpleasant grimace at the mention of the funny-talking broad who was more trouble than she was worth.

"That's what I was thinking!" Sam exclaimed with a grin at the prospect of new people roaming the streets - the potential for more work for him at his job at the court house looking brighter at each second that passed. New folk always meant papers to sign, verifications, yuppy work that Sam had grown to love and Dean had no urge to ever do. The older Winchester was content with his six shooter that his Daddy gave him, his pain in the ass horse, and a bottle of dark whisky. No stuffy lawyer office for him, no siree'!

"So, I think you should get on your crowbait horse and ride on up to the town entrance to greet them real nice and friendly, convince them to stay, and then see if they got a pretty single girl in their family to marry." Sam grinned back at his brother, his eyes hopeful and expectant.

"First of all, Sammy - Impala is not _crowbait_, how dare you even suggest such a thing about my baby - secondly, I am not badgering these people in the hopes of finding a pretty little misses to wed." Dean barked out, his eyes growing a little bit more tense as he ran his hands down his horses velvety muzzle, the animal giving his palm a playful little nip.

Sam sighed, running his hands over his dark hair before slapping his fingers on the porch railing in distress. A few flakes of wood fell off to dust the sun baked ground.

"But Dean, everybody in town is talking - it's not right for a man to be all alone in the world! Hell, I'm your younger brother and I'm getting married before you! Dean, you're thirty-two years old! If you were a woman you'd be an old maid already!"

"Yeah? But I'd be a damn near smokin' old maid." Dean smirked out, his grin only making Sam's features turn into bitch face number 45 - one of Dean's least favorite of the bitch faces.

"Dean, what's going to happen when Jess and I move to California? You're going to be in that big old house with just yourself! Won't you get lonely?" His brother was relentless, his eyes almost pouting like a damn puppy. Dean had to look away - his brother was his ultimate weakness and the kid knew it.

"Damn it, Sammy. I'll be fine. I don't need some woman hanging over everything I do!" Dean insisted as he started to grow just a tad bit angry at why his brother would not just _drop_ it. Dean didn't want to marry just for someone to fix his meals and lay his boots out by the door. He would marry someone because he was smitten with them, and nothing else. So far though, no one had caught his eye.

Oh sure there was the saloon - the _Road House _- that he frequented sometimes when he wasn't too busy to get a taste of the finer things in life, but his visits had been less and less. There just wasn't enough reason to blow his money on women with missing teeth, no matter how good a lay they were.

"Well, at least just go up to the town entrance to escort them in. You can at least do that, can't ya'?" Sam's face softened into a small smile as he gestured to the Sheriff star pinned on Deans leather vest. Obligated duty his ass.

Dean rolled his eyes, his sigh melding into the hot summer air as he jerked his hands away from Impala's pretty perked ears to start the task of untying her reins from their knot.

"Fine Sammy, but only because it's my _job_. See? I have something better to do than playing match-maker." Dean huffed with teasing bitterness as he finally got the knot picked and undone, feeling the familiar weight of the reins in his hands.

Sam only laughed, hand clapping on Deans shoulder, happy that he and his brother were on good terms once more.

"Sure, sure! Just make sure to keep an eye out for anything pretty in that wagon - I expect my brother to get hitched before I go to California or before I turn to dust!" Sam laughed as Dean grabbed the horn of the saddle and hoisted his leg over to sit himself comfortably on the big mare.

The coal black horse began to side step her feet, her long but stocky legs prancing back and forth, telling Dean she was wound up and ready to fly.

Dean petted the horse on her warm neck before he turned her around to face the opening of the town that was a few minutes away on horseback.

"Right, Sammy. If I see anything pretty in that wagon I'll be sure to take it home with me straight away." Dean laughed, his grin seeming contagious as it soon showed up on his brothers face.

"Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean smirked out before he squeezed the sides of his horse, the mare tossing her head up in glee before she leaped into a cloud of dust and then they were gone from sight, into the bustle of the street.

…

**Well, any good so far? I hope so, because I had a blast writing this damn first chapter! Stay tuned for more, my pretty readers! If you have any questions about the slang included in the chapter I'd be happy to answer! However I'm sure just a quick google search would provide fruitful just the same. Or, if people are interested I could define them in the authors notes. PLEASE REVIEW! **


	2. Howdy, Strangers

**Well, so far I've gotten a nice bunch of people interested in this story - that makes me so happy! **I do not own Supernatural, but I do own this story. **This Chapters song is "**Marbletown**" by **Blue Highway.

**So sit back partner and bring the harmonica to yer' lips! We gonna' continue on with this tale of love and danger!**

…

Only after a few minutes of easy riding, Impala's glossy black hooves were coated with a fine layer of dust. Dean had led her steadily to the outskirts of the post office - the first building to welcome new folks into the upcoming of civilization after miles of dirt, grass, and river.

It was a small building - with a door on it's last hinges and a steel barred window at the front that was covered nice and neat with a little pull back curtain. But it was the best place for information besides the Saloon and it made people feel mighty at home to go and collect their mail from their farms a few miles away and have a little conversation with Chuck about his upcoming ten cent novels.

Dean made a small show of leaning to the right in his saddle to take a little peek inside the window, the curtain pulled up to let in the dirty sunlight inside the room as it was too early in the afternoon to waste kerosene in a lamp.

Sure enough there was Chuck, the small scraggily bearded man was thumbing through a little tin box of stamps before, deciding he found the one he wanted, licked the back of it and pressed it to the little inky blotch of an envelope before whisking it away to be picked up later by a rider from the pony express.

At the shift of the color red inside the office, Dean caught the form of Ellen before the counter, collecting a hand full of letters. There was a basket heavy laden with a glass jar of molasses, a paper bag of sugar and a few round glossy apples in her arms.

Dean licked his lips, knowing full well that Ellen was going to be making her famous apple pie for Sunday supper tonight, and boy did his mouth water at just the thought of his kitchen filled with the heavenly scent of caramelized apples and buttery crust topped with fresh churned cream.

If heaven was missing an Angel, it sure as hell was Ellen. That woman had the grace of God within her whenever she picked up a wooden spoon and her rolling pin.

Dean scratched his head at the thought, favoring the right side of his head where last year Ellen had hit him none to gently with that very same rolling pin because he thought he could get away with sneaking off one of her blackberry pies. Angel and Devil all in one - that was Ellen, didn't take bosh from any Winchester.

Sunday, However, was always the day Dean looked forward to most. It meant he didn't have to work so hard patrolling the streets, it meant people were a bit more friendly to each other and crime was less seen. He could recline for a cat nap in his old rocking chair at the front of the jailhouse and no one would give him a second glace. He could do as he pleased, chew a sprig of alfalfa in his mouth and nurse a hot clay mug of coffee lovely and black.

Sunday's meant that friends and neighbors came over with pitchers of sweetened tea and sweet potatoes pies, chicken dipped in batter and fried in oil, and loaves of cornbread fresh off the stove.

It meant wearing nice clothes that smelled like starch and polished shoes that gleamed brighter than the sun in June. Sitting in hard backed pews that still smelled faintly of cedar and singing the Lords praises to protect their little lives that seemed so very unimportant to the grand scheme of things - Dean always holding his tongue to stop from voicing his own damning opinions.

Sunday nights were his favorite - when the crickets and mosquitoes buzzed and chirped near the small pond out back and the bull frogs croaked something fierce. The old dusty piano in the drawing room was tuned and Ellen tried her hand at a few old melodies that her Momma taught her when Dean was still just a twinkle in his Pappa's eye.

And they all sang off key to railroad songs with off beat clapping, Bobby played cards with Rufus and Sam while discussing the outcome of the Presidential Election with Ulysses S. Grant, and Jo and Dean would try to best each other at the banjo - each playing on their Daddy's old instrument till they winded each other silly while singing songs about the marvelous _Doc Holiday _and _Wyatt Earp _in the disguise of rhymes.

It was times like that that made things alright, made things good to be alive. Almost made the weight of the gun at his belt a little lighter and the ache in his heart a bit easier to ignore.

"Thank the Lord it's Sunday." Dean murmured to himself with a gruff sigh of air, stopping Impala with a little pull of the reins and a soft "_Whoa, Baby_" as he wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve. Summers in June were always the worst.

At the sly movement of the reins the horse stilled her feet nice and slow, but she made it plenty known that she was not too happy about Dean's dilly-dallying as she chomped at her bit slightly, pulling her head up and down like the yearling she wasn't.

"Easy girl, We're just gonna' wait for Ellen - maybe she'll give you a nice ol' apple, hmm?" Dean stroked the horse along her neck, the beast snorting her nose interestedly at the mention of a possible treat between her teeth.

"Greedy girl, is food the only thing that makes you behave?" Dean leaned foreword to box the horse teasingly on the ear, making the beast shake her head in annoyance.

"Look whose preaching about gluttony." Came an amused voice from the doorway of the post office,.

At the sound of the throaty words Dean lifted up his head to give a charming smile that would make all the girls swoon for miles - Ellen however, was used to Dean and his charm and went against it tooth and nail like the grand woman she was.

"If you're calling me fat Ellen, I blame you for it all - you and your apple pie are the culprits, not me." Dean chuckled softly, making Ellen's teasing frown transform into a smile of her own, her callous hands coming up to pat the great black horse absently on her muzzle.

"Dean Winchester you blame ev'ry body for your faults but you." She chastised smugly before she took her hand back from the mares coal face to roll her fingers over a green and red melding apple, laying it flat against her palm for the horse to take with slanted teeth.

"All right, keep your heap of smarts! I only waited for you to ask a question anyway." Dean set himself up straighter in his saddle, his horse hardly noticing as she busied herself with slobbering all over her treat, the soft crunches of the apple being split creaking into the air.

"Well, you know I'm always here to cooperate with the law, Sherriff." Ellen leaned against a stout hitching post.

"I'm asking if you've seen the new folks that are supposedly coming to our town?" Dean asked, resting his hands on the horn of his saddle.

Ellen frowned softly before she started to stand on her tip toes, her ladies welt button shoes creaking against the wooden sidewalk.

"Why, I think I see 'em now - granted they're a few yards away, but that's the covering of two wagons alright." She assured, her eyes squinting softly in the sun.

Dean turned his head back around to see, sure enough, in the sweltering hot distance, two wagons sluggishly making their way towards the wooden posts that exclaimed "_Samuel Colt_" Town.

Dean couldn't hide the grin that swept his face.

He looked back to Ellen quickly and tipped his hat brim in thanks before he pulled the reins back a little, Impala squealing with giddiness, her back legs making quick work of moving.

"Dean, you invite those people over for Sunday Dinner tonight - Ya'here? We need to show 'em that we are right friendly folks who take care of our own, moving in or moving out!" Ellen smiled nice and wide at the Sherriff who replied with a lazy beam of is own.

"Yes'm. I'll be sure to invite them over nice and hospitable like - it'd be a sin to horde all of your delicious cooking to ourselves anyway." He barely missed the good natured swat of Ellens wicker basket aimed at his head.

"Go on and get, sweet talker." Ellen laughed before she smacked his horse on the rump, setting her prancing out into a handsome trot.

It didn't take long either for those slowly drifting wagons to make their way to the town entrance frothed with scraggly aspen trees and pines as tall as an eagle could fly.

Dean could already smell the stench of the sweating oxen as they snorted on their way, their yolks creaking as their haunches swayed.

As soon as they were a respectable distance away to not intimidate the new comers, Dean pulled Impala back, lifting his hat up just a tad over his head to get a better look at the first of the two drivers that had noticed Deans presence.

A man with black hair slicked back neat with eyes as brown as the hillside in autumn greeted Dean with an aura of distrust, his gaze flicking over sternly to the Sheriff badge pinned at Deans breast. The man next to him not taking to him any kinder, his coal coffee colored eyes sizing Dean up in case things broke into a fight.

It made Dean wonder what kind of like these folks had led to make them more angry than a bob-cat.

However, Dean's Pappa did teach him impressions were everything, and by the way this young Dude was looking at him with prim and proper clothes that looked like they hadn't spent a day in the dirt, Dean knew he was about to have one of the least friendliest greetings in a while.

"Afternoon." Dean smiled wide and big, showing his pearly white teeth that he actually bothered to clean with baking soda when he could afford it.

The second man stiffened slightly before at least trying to regain his manners that Dean was more than sure he grew up with - being a rich looking hot shot and all.

"Afternoon." Short, simple, to the point. Next it was the other mans turn.

"Afternoon, Sheriff." He spoke smooth with authority - like he was just born with silver spoon in hand since the day he was laid in his Mamma's arms. He did have the decency to tilt his raven black hat back however, which at least meant that he was less likely to draw a Colt out of his belt. First Impressions tended to go down hill when guns were a' flashin'.

Smile never faltering, Dean gave Impala a little nudge with the heel of his boot, urging her a little bit further to the first wagon that had stopped, the other one standing still behind, being driven by a slender yellow haired man accompanied by a shorter one who was chewing insistently on caramel creams with a smirk on his lips that Dean did not find comforting in the slightest.

"You the new family we've been hearing about?" Dean asked, slow and steady with a lazy drawl that was the least threatening sounding.

The second man stiffened once again, as if he had been singed with a red hot poker.

"It seems we are - didn't know we were so famous in these hills." Then a wryly smile, ever so faint appeared on those thin lips that Dean knew could produce a mean grimace if they ever wanted to.

"Well, in a small town exciting news travels fast." Dean assured, clearing his throat to eye at the two wagons, big enough to carry people comfortably if they were sacrificing room for space.

"That so?" The taller man asked, resting the thick reins of his team on his knee.

Dean was about to answer with a carefree "Yes, Siree!" When he was cut off from his thoughts by one of the drivers behind the first wagon.

"Oh stop playing word games Michael, Raphael, and ask him where the nearest outhouse is - Cassy's about to vomit _all over _the wagon and I will not have my linen pillow cases ruined because some fool couldn't handle bumpy roads." The yellow haired man spoke with an air of irritation, jerking his free hand to the flaps of the wagon where Dean guessed more people rested inside.

However, the accent did not go unnoticed, as it perked Deans interest greatly, him being a good old American boy.

"You from England?" Dean asked with a small smile, praying to the heavens above that this man wouldn't be as snaky as Bella had been before she - Thank the Angels - left for France.

The short cropped haired man frowned suddenly, his blue eyed rolling to the left of him before he sighed.

"Yes, I am from England, you yank. _Do y'all have a problem with that, partner?_" He scoffed, trying his best to imitate his words with a typical cowboy drawl to them, making Dean laugh - clearly not the reaction the man wanted as his lips soured and he frowned once more.

"Nope, I ain't got no problem with your kin - Not unless you're related to Bella Talbot?" Dean asked with a wink of his eye that made the shorter man beside the Brit snort and dangle his heels towards the edge of his seat.

"I can assure you I share no relation with anyone by the name of Bella Talbot." He growled out, tossing the reins over to his fellow driver and wrapping his fingers round his suit in festering annoyance.

"Balthzar, please stop your huffing and get me to an outhouse…" Came a weak and haggard voice from inside the wagon, the words sounding gravelly and smoky. It sounded to Dean like the voice of a person who had lived in a coal mine all their life - ash in their lungs and fire in their throat.

"You got a sick person in there?" Dean asked, jutting a thumb to the wagon.

The man Dean could now put a name to - Balthazar - rolled his eyes. "Oh my, beauty and brains -_how lovely_."

The Winchester frowned at the insult before brushing it off. Best not to pick a fight with a new family wanting to settle in - feuds between neighbors wasn't nothing but trouble.

"It's not much, but if you'd like, you can rest at my home. It's just a few minutes up the main road and to the left where the first of the spruce trees comb out. You're welcome to rest your team and feet - stay for dinner too." Dean looked to Michael and Raphael who both seemed to consider it, flashing a brief glance to Balthzar who shrugged, wanting nothing to do with Dean anymore - like a child sick of his toy.

"Thank you, that's very kind of you." Michael spoke simply with a genuine smile that made him seem more human than mad dog-ish, before he slapped the reins of the his tan oxen, spurring the animals on to pick up their hefty feet.

Another moan was heard from inside the wagon as the cart jolted over a pot hole, sending it swaying.

"Balthzar! _He's going to retch!_" Came a worried female voice from inside the British mans wagon, followed by that same croaky voice heaving and coughing up a storm.

"Can't you hold on just a bit, Cassy?" Balthzar gritted through clenched teeth as he held onto the wooden beams of the wagon as it teetered to the left and then back again.

A weary moan was heard again - this time more insistent.

"I swear to God, Castiel - if you spew all over my tin box of licorice I will put a rattlesnake in your bedding!" Finally the shorter of the drivers spoke, his honey eyes glaring at the swaying opening flaps of the whitewash colored wagon.

"I hate you, Gabriel, and everything you stand for." Was the weary reply accompanied by another haggard choking noise and a woman's hushing voice.

It looked like it was about time for the Sherriff of _Samuel Colt Town _to intervene for the safety of the public before things got steadily nastier than they already were.

With a click of his tongue he led Impala right neck and neck with the yolks of the oxen, his eyes stern and serious as he looked to Balthzar who was freed of the reins.

"Here, stop your cart - I'll take your sick man up to the house, it'll be faster." Dean offered, holding out his right hand while his left was busy clutching the reins.

Balthzar and Gabriel looked at the cow hide gloved hand, stained with leather oil and dirt and turned to the two other men for approval.

Dean instantly realized who was in charge of this family - if it even was a family and not some traveling circus come to town.

"Anna, bring Castiel out, he's going to ride with the Sherriff on ahead." Raphael's commanding voice back in place, the two drivers of the second wagon began to peel back the opening flaps to reveal a red headed girl with bright green eyes pushing forward gently a slender man with a slightly gruff chin and the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen, like that of a cornflower.

He was all skin and bones, pale too - his vest and baggy tan overcoat too big for his frame. His hair too, looked a little sickly, messy and ruffled like the preening feathers of a raven. All in all though, if Dean didn't know he was probably a few more wagon rides away from vomiting, he'd of said he was real fetching. For a man.

"Jesus Christ…" Dean breathed out, his gaze widening as the man was fully shoved to crouch on the over crowded drivers seat, the other two men steadying him -Dean fearing he was going to tumble to the floor in a heap.

"No…My name is Castiel." Came the weak and feathery response, all wrapped up in that gravelly voice that sounded like the timbre of a coal miner on his last years of life.

"Uh…" Dean mentally forgot to use his teeth and tongue to make coherent words as the two blonde men grabbed at Dean's saddle horn to steady the horse before they heaved the man - Castiel - atop the saddle behind Dean, the blue eyed mans shaking and clammy hands immediately wrapping themselves around Dean's waist, nice and tight.

"He's your problem now." Balthzar sighed as he snatched the reins from Gabriel, clicking his tongue and setting the oxen to a gratingly faster speed.

Suddenly the woman who Dean guessed was named Anna, popped her head out of the opening flaps to wave at Castiel softly.

"Mind your behavior, Castiel, and be sure to thank the nice man for his good Christian manners." She cooed to the slowly slouching lump at Deans back before she quickly slithered back inside the safety of the wagon covering, away from the brushing dust and hot sun.

It was then that hands squeezed tight around Dean's middle, a chin brushed lightly with stubble perched itself on Deans shoulder to snuggle into the crook of his neck like an abandoned puppy huddling for warmth.

Dean could barely contain the shiver that ran down his back as black soft curls melded against his neck.

"_Jesus Christ…!_" Dean gasped out once more, his eyes wide as Impala snorted, ignoring her owners incapability at the moment to trot down the road ahead of the wagons to the Winchester Farm house.

"Why do you keep exclaiming the name of our savior - are you a religious man?" The breath of the stranger grumbled against Deans ears, making him wince something awful, accidentally clenching on the reins, yanking his mares head up - her whine of protest the only thing bringing Dean back to earth.

"Dear God I hope I am a Religious man…" Dean breathed out with a grappling sigh as he urged his horse faster, the warm summer wind whipping round his face, filling his nose with the heady scent of the stranger who was still clutched around him.

_Because where I'm going for these sinful thoughts_, Dean's consciousness simmered in his mind, _I'm going to need to do a whole lot of praying._

…

**Oh Dean Winchester, you in for a whole heap of trouble. So, what's the verdict? Good chapter? If so - please review, it means the world to me!**


	3. Praying Time

**Welcome, Welcome to the third chapter of this story! Sit for a spell, kick your legs up and enjoy the tale that's about to unfold! **I do not own Supernatural or it's characters but I do own this story.

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Muttering and heaving breaths - those were the two things that rang in Deans ears like goddamn pistols going off in his head from the blue eyed man at his back.

Murmuring something about praying, about forgiveness and battlin' inner demons. Dean really couldn't make out anything in the heap of nonsense - but it was beginning to put him on edge and he soon wished he had just left the handsome but disheveled man to his demise in the back of the wagon. Be much better on his nerves, that was for sure.

Wouldn't be too much skin off his nose as well. Be a lot easier than sitting rigid in his saddle while some God-Fearing man poked holes in his ribcage with his nailed fingers and went on and on under his breath about fucking Leviticus or some shit.

But Damnit, Mary Winchester made sure her boys grew up with a good heart and patience to help others- and Dean, however the worse excuse for a Christian man he was, decided he could deal with a little bit of uncomfortable riding and mumbling. That was, however, until those hands that were gridlocked around his middle began to _squeeze_.

As if it wasn't enough to make the most uncomfortable sounds Dean had ever heard in his life, the stranger - or, as he had called himself "_Cas-teel_" or something - would not let his vice grip loosen on Dean's waist, his bony fingers digging into the only good starched shirt the Sherriff had for Sunday dinner. He would get tanned by Ellen for showing up for dinner in a wrinkled suit with dusty fingerprints, he just knew it.

It didn't do much good either when those said thin hands were warm as branding irons and refused to give just a little, no matter how much Dean twisted and turned in his saddle.

By the first minutes of riding up the town streets, passing by the _Road-House_, trotting by the _Wendigo Gambling Saloon_, and other Red-District buildings, the sun had already done it's torture on his brow, making him drip with sweat from his nose to his chin.

Dean rolled his head on his shoulders for a bit, feeling stiffer than a buffalo hide set out to dry. He had to get out of this saddle and into the nice cool two story house his Daddy built his Mamma', maybe get a pitcher of lemonade and a slice of pie, apple or rhubarb - maybe some blueberry -

The Lawman was suddenly jerked back from his mindless musings of sugar-filled delight when the words at the back of his neck began to race through chapped lips like a stampede of wild horses, as if _Cas-teel _was about to hiss out a _Amen _or a _Hallelujah_ and dump holy water over Deans head - well, at least it would cool his brow off.

The words got quicker and even more nervous when Impala trotted gaily past the _Devils Brothel _that housed more than it's share of good times, at least, in Deans opinion. But it was, when those fingers just tightened up for dear life on the Sheriffs gun belt and suit jacket that Dean had had just about enough, his patience wearing as thin as a ponds surface on a January morning.

"Damnit boy, are you from the _Gospel Mill _or somethin'?" Dean tensed out, his words coming out no better than a rough bark and he winced, not meaning to sound that mean to the man whose family would soon become his next door neighbors.

He held his breath for a few seconds, his face turning red from embarrassment.

The man that, to Dean, appeared to have no sense of personal space, merely shifted in his seat at the horses rump. Hiss hands loosened some to Deans relief and agitation, hoping that he didn't royally piss the guy off by running his mouth.

It wouldn't be the first time he made an enemy by his words alone.

But the next thing the man did was not to rapt Dean on the back of his head in anger or shout from the top of his coal miners voice damning Dean to a life in hell.

Instead, he quietly and meekly spoke, "I am sorry if my droning has bothered you - I am told I often pray when I am nervous, or so my brothers tell me. I can quiet myself if you'd like?" He offered, his hands retracting back slowly from their place on Deans clothes, leaving wrinkles and rumples that would take a good thrash of the iron to get out.

Dean sighed and tried his best to smile, even though he knew for a fact the man couldn't even see the gesture.

"I'm sorry, I didn't - you can go on prayin'. I don't mind. I was just, um, wonderin' is all." Dean spoke carefully, yet still tripping over his words like a damn drunk. He chewed his bottom lip more, worrying it till it almost bled and stained his stiff dress collar.

"Oh, well as long as I'm not bothering you…Thank you, um…?"

"Dean. Dean Winchester." The Sheriff supplied helpfully as he patted Impala on the neck, her pace getting just a wee bit faster than he'd like, the horse already eager to get home to her pen and wooden rack filled with hay. Dean couldn't blame her, his stomach was practically running on empty as well. Nothing a good piece of pie couldn't fix.

"Winchester." The man said, testing it on his tongue before his left palm quietly rested itself on the horses sleek coat for balance. "I've heard of that name."

Dean couldn't help but smile, his grin feeling real this time on his lips.

"You're probably thinkin' of my Daddy, John Winchester. His name is known from Bay Lock Kansas to Wichita as one of the most stubborn Lawdog in the County." Dean spoke with affection for his father. Sure, his daddy wasn't the best in the world, but he wasn't the worst.

He did often come home drunk and depressed, hollering at Dean and Sammy that he had lost yellow-eyes again on a days trip. He had a hard mouth and had a mind of nothing else but catching Mary's killer, but John had never taken a hand to his boys, had made sure they grew up fed with a buck or a pot of rabbit stew at the table. He had Bobby and Ellen look after them when he wasn't home for weeks at a time, and had, what Dean was sure of, nothing but love for his boys even it if rarely shown.

He was as good a father as any and Dean would only sing his praises, hoping everyday that he pulled his boot's up by their mule straps that he'd make his Daddy proud with the silver star he wore pinned to his vest.

He had yet to disappoint.

"Yes, John Winchester, that's the name." Dean felt the man at his back nod his head in recognition, his voice coughing some as he spoke.

"He was the fastest hands in the hills - he, he died though, about three years to a buckshot wound to the hip." Dean couldn't help the twinge of pain hint at his voice, his mind damning him for sharing such information with a man he just met, who was painfully awkward and didn't seem to have any experience in the Bone-Orchard towns of Kansas. He wouldn't last a God-Damn day here.

"I'm sorry to hear that, my own father has been missing for six years, leaving I and my brothers and sister alone. I cannot say I can mirror your pain, but I do feel sorely for you and offer my sympathies." The words were soft and low - a strange mixture that actually got a rise outta' Dean, making his shoulders shiver and his mind rivet back to the prospect that this man, however strange he sounded, was awful kind and quite the sweet talker. Not too bad looking either. Both those attributes were dangerous in these ruffian infested parts.

Dean sucked in a hurried breath, wrenching his eyes shut for a few seconds before he dare open them again. Thinking that a man was nice looking? Thoughts like that would end him dangling from a rope and melting in Fire and Brimstone. Not like he wasn't already doomed for hell anyway.

"That's mighty kind of you to empathize, but I've put it behind me. I have too much work to keep my thoughts on my Daddies death." Dean lied right through his teeth, knowing damn well that he always thought about his parents before he went to bed, before he blew out the kerosene lamp and tried desperately to get some sleep, ending up failing miserably and turning in his sheets. But this stranger didn't need to know any of that. If it's one thing Dean learned at this job it was not to show weakness in emotions. You just lock your jaw, pull the brim of your hat down low, and deal with it.

Doing anything else will get you killed.

The cornflower-blue eyed man, who Dean admitted nervously had already forgotten his name or even how to pronounce it, was quiet for a long bought of time as they passed people milling the streets.

Dean nodded to most of them, a smile on his face that they returned with a tip of their hat or parasol - but some, some just down right sneered and turned away.

Heart clenching painfully, Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. Realizing that some people weren't exactly the most friendly of folks in this town - even if they were proclaimed Christians and sat next to Dean and his family every Sunday morning at Church. They did more gossiping than praying for Deans taste.

The Sherriff, catching a mother shoeing her daughter way from the sight of Dean, made his eyes widen like the Wolf moon. Well, it seemed like rumors were created outta' thin air and burned like a wildfire in this town!

Sighing with a tightness around his mouth, his lips began to rush out a whisper to the man seated behind him.

"Act like yer' real sick." Dean spoke under his breath, tilting his head slightly to the man, Cas - something. Damn it, he was no good at names.

"What?" The man, Cas, Dean decided to call him, questioned. Dean could just imagine his eyes turning owlish and curious, almost making Dean chuckle at the mental image before he corrected himself. Laughing would do no good right now - if fact it would do worse.

"People are staring at us like we're queer. Act like your real sick or they'll get the wrong idea, that we're sweet on each other. I may be a Sheriff but I'm just as able to get downed by a bullet and strung up by a rope as the next man." He spoke once more quickly and hushed under his breath. Surely Cas knew people talked and spread nasty rumors - Even Dean wasn't absolved from the sharp burs of gossip, and he was the God-Forsaken Sherriff!

A heavy quiet notion seeped into the back of Deans neck as he felt Cas shift some from behind him till he bent to the side, pretending to have one hell of a stomach ache as he started to wail in pain - he didn't sound too damn happy at faking an illness that to begin with wasn't that bad. Nothing a couple of tinctures and maybe some laudanum couldn't fix. But then again, Dean would hate to pretend to moan like a leper too.

A muffled groan was heard then, sounding more shallow and fake than anything but Dean'd take it. Anything to get them damn eyes off of him.

It seemed to work, men going back to their pipes, children yapping like damn dogs and the pretty women and widows paying no more attention to them, busying themselves with stitching or carrying jars of jam and molasses. Some people even sent Cas a sympathetic look, worried for his ailing health apparently. Dean snorted under his breath.

Smiling falsely, Dean tighten the reins of his horse to get her into a bouncier gait, her change of pace catching Deans passenger off guard as he yelped in surprise, hands gripping at the leather strips of decoration on the saddle.

"You act like you've never ridden a horse, boy!" Dean grinned as he waved softly to a few of the saloon hostesses that they passed, Meg and Ruby waved back with pretty black laced hands. Damn those women could make a man broke in an hour or less. Dean knew first hand from experience.

"I have ridden, though I am more adept at driving a buckboard. And I am not a _boy_. In fact I believe I may be older than you." Came back a more than slightly scathing remark.

"They are done staring now, may I please stop hacking - it's making me even more nauseous than before." Cas spoke more coldly than Dean had ever heard him in their short acquaintance. His tone was down right icy and it made the Sherriff shiver in the now boiling heat. Clearly Dean had did something to piss the man off, because he could feel eyes as sharp as daggers boring into the back of his skull.

Dean curbed his grin from before into a frown as he pulled Impala to the left to avoid a cart laden with Alfalfa, the driver tipping his hat to Dean.

"Yeah, you can stop. Sorry, didn't mean to upset ya'." Dean mumbled out, clearing his throat and spitting on the ground before him in his usual nervous habit. Then as soon as the salvia left his lips he clucked his tongue and turned Impala to the right with a sweeping movement of his arm, his elbow brushing against what must have been Cas's vested chest.

He felt the dark haired man stiffen and sit rigid in his seat at the touch, his legs squeezing at Impala's sides unconsciously. Dean, pulling his limb forward and away like his arm caught fire. After changing his mares stride as she had begun to be confused by all the squeezing and leaning of her two passengers, Dean righted himself, sucking in breath between his teeth. He began to profusely apologize like it was the only thing he knew how to do, his '_sorry's_' falling on deaf ears as Cas didn't respond - not one word for the Sherriff. Not even a nod of acknowledgement.

Dean silently wondered what had changed to make the other man clam up and become as silent as a dead man.

The rest of the ride to the grand Winchester house was made in a silence the likes Dean had never experienced. Cas didn't wrap his fingers around Deans waist, didn't rest his chin on his shoulder - he had even ceased to mumble Bible verses and prayers.

Dean thought he'd never missed the repeating of David and Goliath more in his entire life.

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**Oh Dean, you ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer! Tell me what you think by reviewing - It really makes me happy and motivates me to write!**


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